


Serus in Cælum Redeas

by QQSuited



Series: The Paradox Collection [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Art heists!, Call back to Terra Incognita, Canon Divergent, F/F, Humor, Jealous!Shaw, Kneecapping!, Post Samaritan, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, guns!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QQSuited/pseuds/QQSuited
Summary: Someone from Root's not-so-distant past becomes their newest number. How will Shaw react when she finds out Root left a man at the altar? Because Shaw doesn't do jealousy. Or does she...?And Fusco finally learns of Root's return





	

**Author's Note:**

> While this is the third installment in the Paradox series, this takes place between Immovable Object and Same Coin. 
> 
> This took forever because Writer’s Block. Here’s hoping it doesn’t suck as badly as the issues I had putting pen to paper, so to speak…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Chinatown, Team Machine Subway HQ_ **

 

“One Beatrice Lillie,” Root said, her heels clicking on the cement as she strode across the Subway platform and tossed a brown paper bag on the desk in front of the tiny, dark-haired, perpetually angry Persian. “Pastrami, extra pepperoncini, spicy and plain mustard, no mayo and a side order of heartburn, just for you, Sweetie.”

Shaw tore into the bag with gusto. “It doesn’t give me heartburn,” she retorted, shoving the sandwich in her mouth as she spoke. “Mmmmmm,” she groaned in delight as the combination of flavors assaulted her taste buds.

“Oh, no,” Root agreed. “That being able to belch the alphabet thing was just a party trick, right?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Shaw looked at the taller woman as she dropped into a chair at the desk, fingers flying on the keyboard as she began working on coding with the Machine. “Where’s yours?”

“Not hungry.”

“Root.”

“Sameen.”

“ _Not this again_ ,” Baby Machine groaned through the computers speakers.

“What are you complaining about, Siri,” Shaw growled around a huge mouthful of sandwich.

“ _I’m not complaining. Just mentioning the fact that when the two of you argue, it consists of you saying each others names and trading looks. It accomplishes nothing_.”

“I feel better afterwards,” she stated. “How ‘bout you?” she asked Root.

“You have to learn to pick your battles, sweetie,” Root added, speaking to Baby Machine. She typed a few more lines then hit the Enter key. “This isn’t one of them.”

There was a pause as the Machine took this in and attempted to run some calculations, Her hard drive whirring as it computed. “ _I will never understand you_ ,” She said finally.

“Humans are complicated,” Root agreed.

“ _No,_ humans _I understand. It’s you two specifically I will never figure out_.”

“Being mysterious is a good thing, Sis,” Shaw remarked. “It keeps people guessing.”

 _“I think we disagree on this matter, Sameen. I do not wish to guess about people considering my primary objective is to keep them safe,"_ She replied. “ _However, I do agree with you on one fact. I wish Analog Interface would consume something for lunch.”_ The computer camera shifted to focus on Root. _“You do not eat enough. Even your affinity for apples is not enough to sustain you.”_

“Yes!” Shaw exclaimed, slapping the desk with her open hand. Root’s eating habits were a sore point for Shaw, knowing the other woman needed to keep up her strength after barely beating death. “If you had a fist, I’d bump it.” She tore off a chunk of her sandwich and held it out to Root. “Eat.”

With a head tilt and a roll of her eyes, (Shaw had a hard and fast rule about not sharing her food, something along the lines of touching her meal amounted to losing a hand at the wrist) Root accepted the deli sandwich and took a cautious bite. Her eyes widened as a variety of flavors burst in her mouth. “This isn’t bad,” she mumbled around the morsel.

Shaw smiled. “See?”

Baby Machine continued running protocols while the two women finished eating. The latest algorithm She and Root were working on was almost complete and would give them wider latitude for the Numbers protocol. As the upgrade neared completion, one of the computers pinged a reminder.

 _“Sameen_ ,” She said after a moment, “ _don’t forget you have agreed to attend the NHL game between the Rangers and Islanders next Tuesday with Lionel. You have not spoken to him for several weeks._ ”

“Oh, crap,” Shaw muttered. “I forgot all about that. We planned going to that game when the schedule came out.” She looked over at Root. “You were still dead that day.” She paused and threw her sandwich wrapper across the platform into the trash. “You know you’re going to have to tell him you’re _not_ sooner or later,” Shaw reminded the hacker. “He deserves to know.”

Root sighed. “I know. It’s just…”

“How do you tell a friend you’re back from the dead? Other than threatening to shoot yourself in the head…”

Root gave a little smile at the memory Shaw’s words evoked. Then she sighed. “Well… or how do you tell a friend that not only are you back from the dead, but you know that he identified your very naked, and obviously _not_ dead, body in the morgue,” she replied.

Shaw’s eyes flashed dangerously. “He _what_?”

“I was on a slab, Sweetie. In the morgue. They don’t dress you for dinner down there.”

“ _I have run some calculations based on my interaction with Detective Fusco_ ,” the Machine interjected. “ _Would you like to hear the results?”_

“Since when do you ask?” Shaw retorted.

“ _Normally, I wouldn’t. I was just being polite_.”

“She’s doing condescension now. Great…”

“ _In at least 37.8% of the simulations, Detective Fusco will pass out upon seeing the ghost of Samantha Groves_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“See?” Shaw said. “It’s no fun, is it? But I’d pay to see Fusco faint.”

 _“In 24.7% he will be overjoyed to the point of giddiness_.”

Shaw didn’t believe that for a second. “Giddy? Fusco? Someone needs to run a diagnostic on this program,” she muttered.

“ _In 36.5%, he will be shocked speechless at Analog Interface’s resurrection_ -.”

“That’s good, let’s go with that one,” Shaw replied. “Silent Lionel.”

“ _The remaining small percentages comprise different variations of the majority of the simulations. However, in 100% of all the simulations, Detective Fusco is pleased that you survived_.”

“Well, that’s good, at least,” Root admitted.

“If he cries, I’m beating the crap out of him.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A few days later, Shaw was out of the Subway chasing down a new number, grateful for the opportunity to possibly shoot someone (or at least “beat the shit out of someone”, her words) while Root stayed behind to continue working on the updated Numbers Protocol.

The former ISA operative had just informed them, breathlessly as she chased down the number through alleys and up, then down, the side of a building, that **_this_** is the excitement she signed up for as Root completed a new program and uploaded it to the Machine. She sat back and watched the coding scroll down the screen as the Machine made corrections to Her heuristics and problem solving.

As the program ran, another program pinged. “ _Oh_ ,” She murmured. “ _Oh, my_ ,” She added, sounding an awful lot like Finch using Root’s voice.

Root sat up and rolled her chair across the floor to the monitor. “What is it? Error in the code?”

“ _Um, no. We have a new number_.”

Root was confused. “Uh, okay.” This _was_ their job, after all. “And what would the problem with that be?”

A screencap popped up on the monitor. Root. In a wedding dress. And running shoes. “ _Ring a bell?_ ” She asked.

“Oh, no.”

“ _Jason Atwater, 43 years of age, graduated Manhattan Technical Institute_ -.”

“Yeah, I know this.”

“ _Information Technology Program Director for the Metropolitan Museum of Art_.”

Root sat back in shock. “Okay, that’s new.”

“ _Apparently, he gave up programming and coding after having his heart broken two years ago. Seems his muse left him at the altar and destroyed his confidence_.”

“He wasn’t very good at his job to begin with,” Root muttered. “No imagination.”

“ _Yes, well, now his number is up and he needs your help_.”

“Well, this should be interesting.”

“ _Are you afraid she’ll be jealous?”_ She asked in genuine curiosity. Human emotions so intrigued Her.

Root barked out a laugh. “Sameen doesn’t do jealous,” she explained to Baby Machine. “This will be hard for her to hear, she may not do jealous, but she does do possessive. I left Jason at the altar after trying to find anything I could about where your predecessor was, with the end result being finding Shaw. He didn’t give me any answers.”

_“Primary Asset Shaw will understand you were searching for her and did what you had to do.”_

Root shook her head gently in disagreement. “Primary Asset Shaw will kneecap me in both knees and then strangle me,” she deadpanned. “And then she’ll get mad.”

_“I think you underestimate her capacity for understanding.”_

“I think you overestimate her ability to feel much more than anger.”

 _“Sameen has deep feelings for you and missed you terribly when you were presumed dead. She is very happy you’re alive.”_ Baby Machine noted Root’s shocked expression through the laptop’s camera and paused. “ _We talked a lot after the Fall_ ,” She said in a tone that seemed to include a one-shouldered shrug, as if that explained things.

“Hmm, well, we’ll see.”

There was a pop and static as the comm link was turned on. “Okay, I’m tired of this,” Shaw panted suddenly. “One of you two call the 23rd precinct and report a robbery.” There was a grunt from the Persian and a groan from an anonymous second party, then the sound of something crumpling to the pavement. “He ran, I caught him,” she grumbled by way of explanation.

“ _I will notify them now_ ,” She replied.

“Thanks. I’m leaving him here in this alley. Can you see us?”

“ _Yes, Sameen. Wonderful job of subduing him_.”

There was a growl in the comm. “You are so weird,” Shaw muttered. “I’m getting lunch so I’ll see you when I see you.”

“See you soon, Sweetie,” Root replied as the comm link clicked off.

When Shaw returned 45 minutes later carrying the recognizable brown paper sack of Park’s Deli, Baby Machine hummed in amusement as a second sandwich was forced into Her Analog Interface’s hands.

“I’m not sharing,” Shaw said by way of explanation. (Yes, that was it, she was not willing to give up part of her favorite sandwich. Because Sameen Shaw does not share. That was the _only_ reason she’d purchased two sandwiches. Two _different_ sandwiches. Something Root might like better than Shaw’s favorite sandwich. Because Shaw doesn’t share her favorite type of sandwich, either.) She dropped into a chair next to Root and kicked her feet up onto the desk, digging in to the gigantic Beatrice Lillie and moaning in satisfaction at the first bite. “Eat,” she mumbled around her mouthful.

Root unwrapped her sandwich, Pastrami and Swiss on rye with deli mustard, and took a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, she picked at the crust, trying to build up her courage.

 “Sweetie, we’ve got a number-,” She began.

Shaw swallowed the huge bite of sandwich and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Will there be shooting involved?”

Root’s head bobbed a bit. “Quite possibly,” she replied, thinking Sameen might shoot Atwater just on principle.

“ _Jason Atwater_ ,” Baby Machine began reciting, switching from Root’s voice to the clipped, erudite tone of one Harold Finch, “ _has become entangled with a group of art thieves who intended to use his access to the museum to steal a variety of priceless Fabergé items, including three eggs, all on loan from the Matilda Geddings Gray Foundation_.” There was a momentary pause. “ _He had no idea what he was getting into at first, but now he’s finding it difficult to… extricate himself from the situation_.”

Shaw sighed. “I guess I’m joining another gang of thieves.”

“You do what you do best, Sweetie.”

The machine made a funny sound and Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “Did She just clear Her throat? Did You just clear Your throat? ” Her head swiveled from a sheepish Root to the computer and back again. “Okay,” she sighed. “The other shoe. Drop it. Now.”

Root swallowed and looked somewhat guilty. Shaw had a feeling she wasn’t going to like this. She wasn’t going to like this at all.

“Um, well, funny story-,” Root hedged.

“Root…”

“ _Jason Atwater previously worked for Samaritan as a coder. Back when you were a guest of Samaritan’s, Analog Interface jilted this particular number at the altar_ ,” Machine Root quickly interjected. “ _Sometimes you just gotta rip that band aid off,_ ” She stated to her Analog Interface.

The silence stretched out so long the dripping of the pipes behind the walls and the 6 Train running half a mile away could be heard clearly. Root’s face scrunched up in apprehension, awaiting the impending eruption.

“Excuse me?” came the measured, controlled, soft, low response.

“Sweetie, nothing happened,” Root assured her. “I was trying to find out where She had gone, hoping it would also lead me to you. Once I determined Jason didn’t have the information I needed, I left.”

“On your wedding day?”

“Um, well…” Root paused for a moment. “It was a whirlwind courtship. I charmed him, he fell for me- you know how that is-.” Shaw snorted indelicately. “And when the big day arrived two months later, I never showed up. That’s all.”

Shaw looked at her silently for so long, Root actually squirmed under the scrutiny. “Two months?”

“I had to work fast?” The taller woman paused thoughtfully. “You know how I always get my way.”

“Sadly, yes, I do.”

“And maybe it was more like six weeks?”

Shaw shook her head. “Of course it was,” she muttered.

“Just remember, Sameen,” Root responded sweetly as she got up, pressing a sloppy kiss to Shaw’s cheek. She leaned over the smaller woman’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “It was always you.”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw exasperatedly wiped the kiss from her cheek. “So you always say.”

“Jealous, Sweetie?”

“What? No.” Shaw snorted unconvincingly. “I don’t do emotions, Root. I certainly don’t do jealousy.”

“ _Elevated blood pressure, erratic breathing, jaw tightening_ ,” Baby Machine recited into their earwigs. “ _Hands clenching into fists. You’re right. No jealousy here_.”

Shaw’s eyes snapped up to a nearby security camera. “I’m also armed with a Sig Sauer P229 and I know where Your sensitive hardware is, Sister.”

“ _Pfft_ ,” the Machine replied. “ _Such threats and never the follow through_.”

 

**_Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC_ **

 

After formulating a plan, one that really didn’t involve much except confronting Jason and urging him to get Shaw invited into the group, the two women headed uptown to the Met. It was close to lunchtime and many museum employees were taking their lunch on the front steps, enjoying the unusually warm spring weather. Root spotted her ex-fiancé as she and Shaw neared the concrete steps and moved to put herself in his line of sight.

 _“Beware,”_ She said in Root’s earwig. _“He’s having tuna fish today.”_

“What?”

_“There is a 98.75% probability that he will attempt to kiss you. Just giving you fair warning.”_

“Thanks.”

_“Just doing my job, ma’am.”_

Shaw snorted. “She’s got attitude, doesn’t She?” Root just hummed in agreement.

“Alice?” a ridiculously skinny man blurted when he spotted them. His eyes bugged out at the woman standing before him, never expecting to see her ever again after their failed wedding.

“Hello, Jason,” Root replied.

“Alice,” Shaw snorted under her breath.

“Shut it.”

“This is the guy?” Shaw growled, turning slightly so he couldn’t see her distaste. “Seriously? I see why you left him.”

“I was never going to actually marry him, Sweetie,” Root reminded the shorter woman rather unnecessarily. “Oh, my-,” she blurted suddenly as the man grabbed her in a tight hug, pulling her into his thin chest. She effectively managed to dodge his attempts to kiss her, bobbing and weaving from the tuna salad sandwich strong on Atwater’s breath just as She had warned.

Beside her, Shaw growled deep in her throat. It was a violent enough sound that Atwater released Root as if he’s been burned and glanced at the other woman. Shaw glowered at him hard enough that he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat like a cork in a churning sea. When she showed him her teeth what appeared to be some approximation of an evil snarl, he quickly backed off.

He turned back to Root. “Where have you been?” he asked urgently. “I looked for you for months and couldn’t find you.”

“Things happened, Jason, plans changed.” Root glanced over at Shaw. “And some things you just can’t let go of.”

While they spoke, Shaw took in the jilted man. Tall and skinny as a reed, he had a thinning tuft of brownish-blond hair on top of his head, weepy-looking fish-eyes and a hawkish nose. He was all angles and sharp edges and it was obvious that he must have thought he won the lottery when Root/Alice pursued him so enthusiastically all those months ago.

 _“Wow,”_ Baby Machine whispered in Shaw’s earwig. _“That DMV photo does not give the full effect here, does it?”_

“I’ve always been a woman of few words,” Shaw muttered in agreement, “but even this leaves me speechless.”

“Then why are you talking?” Root sing-songed as she followed Jason up the steps and into the museum.

“To keep from laughing!” Shaw shouted from the sidewalk before following in their wake.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Having worked for an all-knowing and scary ASI, Jason took Root at her word with no questions as she explained that she knew what he was mixed up in, she was there to help and things would be okay. It didn’t stop him from glancing frequently to Shaw as the small, angry woman paced the length of his tiny office while Root spoke.

“So, what do I do?” he asked, swallowing again. Shaw was fascinated by his violently bobbing Adam’s apple.

“You bring me into the group,” she informed him. “I’ll take care of things from there. Ro- Alice will make sure everyone is arrested when the time comes. Everyone but you and me.”

“How? How do I get you in the group? They’ve told me if I tell anyone they’ll kill me. How do I explain telling you _without them killing me_?!”

“Just tell them she’s your sister,” Root suggested.

“They won’t believe that!” he exclaimed, then got all moon-eyed as he looked at the woman who had jilted him.

“No shit,” Shaw agreed. She scowled at Atwater. “It’s got to be believable.”

Root turned in her chair to face Shaw. “Tell them you’re a docent,” she said.

Shaw snorted. “A docent? Can you imagine me giving museum tours? That’s less believable than me being related to him.” She continued her pacing. “Tell them I’m a new security staff hire. That’ll explain why they don’t know about me.”

“Ooh, good idea, Sweetie. I'll add you to the museum's employment records just in case.” Root turned to Jason. “When do you meet them next?”

Atwater swallowed again. “Tomorrow night. There’s a bar down the street. Eight thirty.”

“You’ll be there and you’ll be bringing Shaw. Be ready, Jason.” She stood and gave him a smile. “We’ll take care of this. Bye for now.”

He practically had hearts coming out of his eyes. “Bye,” he murmured, Adam’s apple bobbing again. “Alice…”

Shaw was mesmerized as Root pushed her towards the office door. “Seriously, that Adam’s apple-,” she started, pointing at her own throat.

“Sameen,” was the only response as she was pushed out into the corridor.

 

**_Gael Pub, Upper East Side, NYC_ **

 

The next night at 8:30 sharp, Shaw followed Atwater into the bar to meet the rest of his associates. Atwater pointed out the group, three men and a woman, at least two of whom probably couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper sack.

“Child’s play,” Shaw murmured as she surged ahead of the former Samaritan coder, hands plunged into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“Be careful, Sweetie,” Root said in her ear. “She says the big one has a short temper.”

Shaw snorted to herself. “That’s funny. Have either of you met me?” she muttered. She arrived at the table just as the waitress was setting down drinks, dropping into a chair and pointing at a glass of scotch. “What’s this?” she asked the waitress.

“Midleton Rare.”

“Oh, the good stuff.” She picked up the glass and took a healthy swallow. “Hi, guys!”

“Who the hell are you!” one of the men exclaimed, obviously the leader of the motley crew. He glared up at Atwater as the skinny man approached the table. “What the fuck, Jason!”

“I’m Shaw,” Sameen replied, sipping again from the glass, smile firmly planted on her lips. “And I’m here to help you.” The others started talking at once; outrage, disbelief and curse words filling the air. Shaw swallowed the last of the very smooth Irish whiskey, spun the glass upside down and loudly slammed it back down on the table. Everyone fell silent. “I know what you’re planning and as I am the new night security guard, you’re gonna need me. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?” The leader snarled. “You’ll turn us in? I’ll have Chad here put a bullet in your head first.”

Shaw snorted. “ _Chad_? Really?” She looked at the goon to her left with the shaved head and neck Tat while Baby Machine spoke quietly in her ear. “You mean the guy who washed out of Basic in three days because he wanted his mommy?”

A chair scraped against wood as Neck Tat Chad started to rise, but he suddenly felt something in his side. Looking down, he saw the black barrel of a Smith & Wesson M&P digging into his ribs. He quickly looked up at Shaw in shock. Shaw smiled. “You wanna amend that thought?” she growled at the others. The table was silent.

“Is that my gun?” Root exclaimed in Shaw’s earwig.

Despite a slight wince at Root’s interjection, Shaw continued. “Like I said,” she stated. “I’m in. And you’ll listen to me or this will go pear-shaped real quick. And you really don’t want that.”

Beside her, Atwater swallowed repeatedly and it was all Shaw could do to remain focused on the Apple Dumpling Gang before her and not his dancing Adam’s apple. _Apple Dumpling Gang_ , she thought. _Appropriate_.

“So,” the group leader growled. “What’s _your_ plan, then?”

Shaw snorted. “Well, it starts with not getting caught," she lied.

Then, slowly, and using small words so they would all understand, Shaw laid out the plan the Machine had devised that would get them into the museum but not out of it.

But they didn’t know that last part.

 

**_Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC, One Week later, 3:00AM_ **

 

“I’m in.” Matuzzo, the leader, whispered into his comm.

“We’re right behind,” Shaw replied, holding the reinforced metal door open for the others to enter through the museum’s storage space three floors below ground. “Atwater, reroute the feeds.”

“D-done,” Atwater replied into his comm after a moment. He had actually done nothing, Root and Baby Machine, sitting at Atwater’s side, had accessed the museum’s security grid and run a video loop through the cameras. They also spoofed the security system to give the impression all security precautions were still in place.

Matuzzo was waiting for them in the Grand Hall, dressed all in black with his face covered in what looked like black shoe polish. Shaw rolled her eyes in annoyance, wondering how these morons had managed to get as far as they did, considering their ridiculously clichéd actions.

“We have 15 minutes to get into the hall, get the stuff and get out,” McClain, the other woman of the group, stated looking at her watch. “On my mark… Mark.”

The others all pressed small buttons on their watches to set the timers. Shaw rolled her eyes again and started down the massive hallway to the Fabergé exhibit. When the others finally caught up with her, she let them move to the front, dropping behind as if she was taking the rear position to cover their backs.

The clinking of tools in Matuzzo’s bag was so loud that Shaw had a hard time not laughing.  This merry band of idiots would have been caught before they managed to get into the museum, let alone anywhere near the Eggs if she, Root and Baby Machine hadn’t stepped in. This was the most inept gang of would-be art thieves to ever attempt a robbery and the past week spent with them planning and re-planning this job had been a trial of Shaw’s patience with morons. As it was, she was afraid if she rolled her eyes any harder at their amateurish bullshit, her optic nerves would snap.

As they continued, Matuzzo turned and waved Neck Tat Chad and McClain to either side.

“Is that supposed to be military?” Root murmured in Shaw’s ear, watching on a security camera feed She had opened securely. “Is that supposed to indicate flanking positions?”

“I guess so,” Shaw replied softly. “I thought maybe he was having a seizure.”

Shaw followed behind as the others slowly made their way to the small exhibition hall containing the Fabergé items. Knowing Big Sister had taken care of the cameras and all security measures, she slowly pulled her- Root’s- M&P from the small of her back and quietly screwed the suppressor onto the barrel.

As the others approached Hall 555 and the Gray-Geddings Fabergé Eggs, Shaw spoke into her earwig. “You’ve contacted Lionel?” she whispered to Root.

“They’re already on their way, Sweetie. They should be arriving-,” as Root spoke Shaw raised her weapon and fired at Neck Tat Chad’s knee. “-Now.”

 _Pop_. Chad went down in a whimpering heap. Before Matuzzo, McClain or the third guy, whose name Shaw never bothered to learn, could turn around, she had fired twice more. _Pop, pop_. Down went McClain and No-name guy.

“What the fuck-!” Matuzzo shouted, turning back to Shaw. “You fucking bitch!”

 _Pop, pop_. With two quick pulls of the trigger, Shaw put one bullet in Matuzzo’s knee, and another in his shoulder just because. “You’re lucky I stopped you before you actually got those pieces and tried to leave,” she told him as she quickly zip-tied the others before moving to his side. “The guys coming to arrest you are pretty tired of idiots who don’t know their assholes from their elbows. They wouldn’t have aimed at your knees or your shoulder.” She yanked him over onto his stomach, ignoring the cry of pain at the jostling of his bullet wound and zip-tied his hands behind his back. “I’ve worked with some stupid thieves in my lifetime but you morons really take the cake. I just saved your sorry lives. Say ‘thank you, Shaw’.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, man, you’re way off,” she laughed, dropping him back to the marble floor and straightening up. She could hear sirens approaching and she looked back down the hallway. “Well… bye.”

She quietly slipped through the Arts of Africa exhibit to the stairs and down to the garage level.

 _“Thirty feet down this hallway, then take a left,”_ the Machine instructed. “ _Take another left, then straight down the next hallway. This will take you all the way across the museum. The last right will put you back at your exit.”_ Shaw navigated the darkened lower levels back to the reinforced door she and the others had originally entered through and slipped out of the museum.

By the time she had made it back up to street level and the front entrance, the cement steps were crawling with New York’s Finest. Even from the corner of the massive building, Shaw recognized one stocky, curly headed cop scanning the people crowding the sidewalk. She strode closer until Fusco spotted her and casually strolled to her side.

“Hey, Lionel,” she said as she neared.

“Hey, Miss Congeniality, good work,” he replied, pointing his walkie-talkie at the four would-be criminal masterminds being led to separate squad cars. He grinned a little at their noticeable limps. “Nice shooting. Still insisting on kneecapping, huh?”

Shaw smirked. “I think she got that from Finch.”

“She? Oh, so, it’s a she now?”

“What-,” Shit, she thought, she was talking about Root, Fusco was talking about the Machine. “Well, you know how Robot Overlords can be, first she chose a voice, now a gender.”

 _“Hey!”_ She exclaimed indignantly into Shaw’s ear.

“Shut up, Siri,” Shaw replied with scowl. “It’s enough I have you in my head like this, I don’t need attitude on top of it.”

Fusco grinned. “Hey, congrats on the new gig with Big Sister there. I guess that makes you Finch, huh?” he cracked as he started to walk away. “Thanks for the heads up, Tiny.”

“Hey, Fusco,” Shaw called to the retreating police detective. Fusco turned to look at her. “Come by the loft this weekend. We’ll catch up.”

“Sure thing, Shaw,” he replied. “You buying dinner?”

Shaw smiled. “Yeah, Lionel, I’m buying dinner.”

“See you Saturday, then. You owe me Italian.” He turned away and strode back to the knot of patrol cars down the sidewalk. “And not pizza!” he yelled over his shoulder.

With a laugh, Shaw threw a two-fingered salute to Mattuzo, who was cuffed and glaring at her out the back window of a patrol car then turned her back on the commotion and strolled down the sidewalk, past the rubberneckers and gawkers, to the corner. Root slipped out of the shadows and fell into step beside her as they headed to the Subway station on 86th.

“So, that was fun, huh?” the taller woman said with a grin.

“Not too bad,” Shaw agreed with a smile of her own.

Root slipped her arm through Shaw’s and squeezed. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“I can always eat.”

“Ooh, good to know. Dinner first, though.”

Shaw just shook her head and laughed, secretly happy back to being assaulted with Root’s inappropriate and corny innuendo.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I need to at least tell him good-bye,” Root told Shaw the next day as they headed back to the museum.

“Whatever,” Shaw replied, hands jammed again into her jacket pockets. While kneecapping some idiot wannabe art thieves had been fun, having to see the beanpole with the cow eyes trained on… whatever-Root-was-to-her… again made the Persian’s blood fire up with something akin to rage. “I’m shooting him if I have to.”

Root clasped her hands to her bosom. “My hero…”

Shaw growled, completely unamused. Root glanced at her and turned in the direction of the other woman’s intense scowl. The sappy-eyed hat rack in question was rushing down the museum steps towards them.

“Alice!” he called out, waving a twig-like arm in their direction. Shaw really, really hated this guy. “Alice!”

“That’s it, I’m shooting him,” Shaw snapped, reaching around to the small of her back.

Root grabbed her arm. “Sameen!” she whispered. “You can’t shoot him for no reason.”

“Oh, I got a reason.”

“Jealousy doesn’t count.”

Shaw snorted. “I’m not jealous.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetie. Just… wait here.”

With a low growl deep in her throat, Shaw leaned against the concrete wall, her anger slowly stewing. Her hand itched to reach for her Nano as she watched Root talking to Jason at the base of the museum’s steps. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obvious from Jason’s expression that he was pleading with Root in some fashion. Funny how Baby Root wasn’t giving her a blow-by-blow of the conversation, unlike every other time She eavesdropped and recited with relish every word that was spoken. (Ooh, relish. That reminded Shaw. She was hungry.)

That Root was not responding in kind gave her a modicum of satisfaction, but when Atwater grabbed Root by the arms and pulled her against him, Shaw had had enough.

In two swift strides, she reached the pair, peeled one of Atwater’s fingers back and twisted his arm behind his back. The fact that he squealed like a little girl and danced up on his tip toes in pain did nothing to ease her possessiveness. Instead, she twisted harder until the man dropped to his knees.

She leaned down over his shoulder. “Touch her again and I will rip your arms off and beat you to death with them,” she growled darkly into his ear. “Got me?”

“Yes,” he whimpered, tears stinging his eyes from the pain. “Yes, yes, yes…”

“Good. Say good-bye to… uh…uh…”

“Alice,” Root supplied.

“Say good-bye to Alice and never come near her again. Don’t even _think_ about her ever again. If you do, I’ll know. I promise.”

Still whimpering, Jason Atwater looked up at the woman who had left him at the altar, who had been his muse- Who had just saved his ass from a group of demented wannabe museum art thieves.

“Good-bye, Alice,” he gasped when the short, angry woman yanking his arm up behind his back into a wholly unnatural position felt he was taking too long. “Take care of yourself.”

Root smiled sympathetically. “You, too, Jason. Find a nice girl. Settle down. Stay away from museums and computers.”

“Yes,” he gasped again. “I will.”

“Bye,” Shaw added, releasing his arm, yanking him upright and shoving him down the street.

Jason hurried away, his quick step turning to a very brisk walk when he took one last look back and got a final glimpse of the angry, oh-so-angry, one. She gave him the universal “I’m watching you” motion of fingers to her eyes then swinging them at him menacingly. It suddenly struck him that while they had saved him from the thieves, no one would be there to save him from that angry lady should he be so stupid as to even try to contact Alice again one day. He started running.

“ _So protective, Sameen_. _You make me want to swoon_ ,” Machine Root murmured in Shaw’s ear. Shaw glanced up at the nearest security camera and flipped it off. “ _If only…_ ” She sighed.

“I’m hungry,” Shaw said suddenly, turning her back on Jason’s swift departure and striding away. “Steak. You’re buying.”

Root grinned as she hurried to catch up, slipping her arm through Shaw’s and matching her stride down the street. She was pleasantly surprised when the other woman didn’t pull away.

“Anything you want, Sweetie,” she replied, secretly delighted at Shaw’s obvious jealousy. “Would it help if I told you we had taken a vow of chastity until our wedding night?”

Shaw snorted. “ _Him_ , yes. _You_? Never.”

 

**_Shaw’s Loft, Alphabet City_ **

 

“When will he be here?” Root asked nervously.

Shaw finished paying the kid for the order she had placed with the local Italian restaurant and placed it on the kitchen counter. “He should be here any minute,” she replied. “What are you so nervous about?”

“Uh, well, let me see,” Root retorted, “I’m about to tell a man with dangerously high blood pressure and clogged arteries that I’m alive after he not only thought I was dead, but had to identify my body. If he doesn’t drop dead on the spot I’ll have to consider it a very big victory.”

 _“Lionel’s last physical reported exceptional findings_ ,” Baby Machine replied in their earwigs. “ _Despite being a little overweight_ -.”

“A little?” Shaw interjected.

“- _His CBC panel was within acceptable levels, his blood pressure has been managed well with medication and his lung capacity is at optimum capacity. He should survive your resurrection.”_

“How’s his cholesterol?”

_“Well, that’s still on the high side.”_

“So, angioplasty is probably in his future. Bet that won’t keep him from the cheese bread.”

There was a knock at the door and Root jumped. Even Bear perked up as Shaw moved to open it. She chuckled at the look of a deer caught in the headlights on Root’s face before the taller woman just pointed across the loft and hurried into Shaw’s bedroom, Bear on her heels in concern.

“Hey, Lionel,” Sameen said as she stepped back to allow Fusco entrance. “The Isles suck.”

“Nice talk, Tiny ,” the detective snapped as he entered the loft. “You got food or what?”

Shaw grinned at Fusco’s predictability. “You never disappoint, Lionel.”

“Yeah, I’m a peach.” He turned to look at her as he dropped onto the sofa, sensing something was a little off. “What’s up with you today?”

Shaw fidgeted a moment then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, unable to meet Fusco’s eyes. “Lionel-.”

“Oh, what the hell, Shaw. What’s going on?”

In the bedroom, Root and Baby Machine were watching the other two closely. “ _You should get out there_ ,” Baby Machine said in her earwig. “ _Just rip the bandaid off_.”

Knowing She was right, Root took a deep breath. “Hello, Lionel,” she said, stepping out of the bedroom.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Fusco exclaimed, jumping up at the sight of Root standing, very much alive and breathing, right before him. “What the hell-!”

Stumbling backwards in shock, the detective forgot where he was as the arm of the sofa caught him right at the back of the knee. Unable to maintain his balance, he flailed his arms and tipped over, tumbling unceremoniously over the couch and landing on the floor with what was quite obviously a painful thump.

 _“Hmm, my calculations did not take the sofa into account when running outcome simulations,”_ Baby Machine muttered in Root’s voice _. “Wow. I completely missed that one…”_

Both Root and Shaw hurried to Lionel’s side to help him to his feet. He skittered away from the taller woman, still shocked at her being alive.

“You okay, there, Lionel?” Shaw deadpanned as she pulled the detective up. She held out a glass of water to him.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed, his accent becoming more pronounced. “You were dead! Dead! I saw you! What the hell! Dead! On the table! But- Dead!”

“That’s coherent.”

“Go to hell, Shaw!” he snapped, yanking his arm out of Shaw’s grasp once he was back on his feet. “Did you know about this?!”

Root held out her hands to Fusco. “Sameen didn’t know I was alive until just a few weeks ago-.”

“A few weeks? You been back from the dead for a **_few weeks_** and you’re just now telling me?!” Fusco shook his head. “You better have a good explanation for this, Cocoa Puffs. I had to identify your body, goddammit!” The detective was beside himself in shock and anger. “Do you know how hard it was to tell Reese you were dead? How we stood at your grave when they put you in the fucking ground?! Watching this one-,” he jerked a thumb at Shaw, “holding it together with anger, duct tape and a gun?!”

“Lionel, please,” Root said softly. “Please let me explain. At least let me apologize for what She put you through.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Not You you,” Shaw snapped. “The other You. You version 2.0. Suitcase You. I think You’re version 3.0. You’d be Satellite You.” Root discretely took Shaw’s glass of scotch out of her hand.

“Sweetie…” she whispered and shook her head.

Shaw huffed and crossed her arms on her chest.

Baby Machine hummed. “ _Continue_.”

“You know, it’s bad enough I lost a partner in all this when Reese took the ultimate bullet for the team,” Fusco muttered. “Then Glasses bugged out like it was no big deal after me and Shaw put it all on the line for him and were almost killed.”

“I’m sorry about John,” Root said softly to Fusco. She settled on the couch and waited until Fusco dropped into the armchair to her right. “Apparently, the Big Lug made a deal with the previous Machine-,” Baby Machine hummed in approval. Shaw rolled her eyes, “-to sacrifice himself in order to save Harold’s life. I didn’t know, I never would have let Her agree to it.”

“So, Wonderboy plays hero while Angry here and I get shot at, stabbed, thrown onto a runaway Subway train and barely get away in time to watch a Cruise missile blow him to smithereens. _Then_ Finch just decides to retire to Italy, all rainbows and butterflies, and you’re still alive and kicking. I got that right, Cocoa Puffs?”

Root smirked. “Oh, Lionel, I have so missed your inventive soubriquets,” she replied.

Fusco grunted. “Why can’t you talk like us normal people?”

“Think about it, Fusco,” Shaw cut in.

Ignoring them both, Root continued. “I didn’t even know, Lionel. I was unconscious before I even got to the hospital. She orchestrated everything from the moment I was hit by that bullet. Dr. Enright kept me sedated once I got to the ER, then she induced my coma. I was not aware of anything that happened until I woke up three weeks later. I never would have put you through that, Lionel. Never.” She paused, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. “Please believe me.”

Fusco looked at the woman before him for a long moment. They’d lost so much over the last five years starting with Carter. Now Reese was dead and Finch had apparently had no qualms about bolting and not bothering to even check to see if he and Shaw had survived. Finally, he huffed.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Nutella,” he said after a long moment, his voice rough with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that end.”

Root grinned. “Thank you, Lionel. I missed you, too.”

“I never said that.”

Shaw snorted. “Don’t even try. She’s got a response for everything.”

Fusco shook his head and glared at her. “You couldn’t’a said something?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Shaw retorted. “Oh, hey, Lionel,” she said in a deadpan, mocking tone, “Remember when you identified Root’s body and then went to her funeral? Just kidding.”

“Something like that woulda worked, yeah.”

“Next time,” she growled at him.

While they got their meals and talked quietly, Bear trotted out of Shaw’s bedroom with a slobbery, chewed up Bunny slipper in his mouth. Fusco, who was a detective, after all, took that in with all the other clues he saw in the loft.

“So,” he began, stabbing at his chicken parm. Shaw felt the hair on her neck prickle. She was going to regret his next words. “You two living together now, or what?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Later that night Root curled up into Shaw’s side, resting her head on Sameen’s shoulder, her fist tucked under her chin, the other arm thrown across the smaller woman’s waist. Her hand had snuck up beneath Shaw’s tank top, her fingers gently smoothing over the pucker of a scar; obviously a souvenir from one of the bullet wounds Shaw had received at the Stock Exchange. 

Shaw wrapped her arm around Root’s shoulders, holding her close, her fingers playing with the curly locks of hair at Root’s temple. Her other hand was tucked under her pillow beneath her own head. She stared up at the ceiling in the darkness, focused on something only she could see.

“I can hear you,” Root whispered in the dark, her breath warm on Shaw’s skin. She was still a little humbled by the affection Shaw had been showing since her return from the dead. She no longer groaned at the intimacy and on many occasions was the initiator. The war they had fought had fundamentally changed them both as people.

“Hear me what?” Shaw replied.

“Thinking. It’s really quite loud.” She pushed herself up on her elbow, resting her head in her hand and gazed at the darker woman. “Wanna talk about it?”

Shaw snorted. “Yeah, ‘cuz I’m a talker,” she deadpanned. “I got your message, you know.”

Root smirked in the darkness, one side of her lips curling up in amusement. “You’re going to have to narrow it down, Sweetie. I’ve sent you many messages over the years. A lot that you _didn’t_ get…”

“The one while I was still a guest of Samaritan’s. The four alarm fire,” she murmured in the dark, conveniently leaving out the fact she was seconds away from shoving a needle in her eye to finally put an end to it all.

Root gently took Shaw’s free arm and turned it to the moonlight flowing in the loft’s large windows to the tattoo inked there; **4AF** in thin black letters. “Is that what this is, then?”

“Tattooed right over the ink I’d written.”

“Well, that’s rather sentimental, Sweetie,” she murmured before dropping onto her back so they lay shoulder to shoulder for the moment.

“Yeah, I know. Kinda sad, isn’t it? When I feel myself... struggling with reality, I look at it, run my fingers over it, and it grounds me. It's something Samaritan never knew about so I know this is real and not a simulation.” Then Shaw turned her head and glanced at the woman beside her. “How’d you do that, by the way?”

Root grinned up at the ceiling in the dark. “Conspiracy theorist.”

Leveraging herself up on her elbow, Shaw stared down at the other woman. “What? Again, with clarity this time.”

“A radio show about conspiracy theories. I was begging Her to help me find you and She sent me to work at a radio station. The host had discovered some kind of code in the radio transmission signals. We finally figured out that Samaritan had infected a whole network of devices all over the world so they could keep in contact with their operatives. I realized if they were sending signals out, then they could also receive signals. I thought that if I sent it, you would hear it.” She paused and smirked at the other woman. “I used the printer.”

“It came through the radio in my room,” Shaw informed her in a whisper. “It gave me- **_you_** gave me the will to not quit, to come up with a plan and get out of there."

“I never would have stopped looking for you, Sameen,” Root murmured, her voice wavering a little with the emotion. “I would have burned the world down to find you.”

Shaw gave her a little smile. “That’s what John said.”

“You know, then, that nothing would have ever happened between Jason and me. I was searching for you. He was just a tool.”

“Yeah, well, he certainly was a tool.”  The loft fell silent save for the sound of their soft breathing. “Hey, Root?”

“Yes, Sameen?”

“You know what you mean to me, right?”

“Yes, Sameen, I do.

“You mean a lot to me. You’re important to me. You’re kinda the most important person in my life.”

“I know, Sweetie.”

“You know, next to Bear.”

In the corner of the room, the Belgian Malinois huffed in agreement, yawned, and went back to sleep, his head resting on a chewed-up Bunny slipper.

Turning off the camera in the bedside clock where She had been observing her Analog Interface and Primary Asset, Baby Machine sighed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – I’m not good at writing the actual events of the robbery, I don’t think I have the imagination for that. Hope it worked out okay.
> 
> A/N2 - I also may have taken liberties with the timeline within this story as far as Root’s whirlwind courtship and wedding-that-wasn’t. I love Root, you love Root, we all love Root. But I just don’t know if she could have pulled off a courtship and what appeared to be a full-blown wedding in just a couple of weeks. Even with the Machine’s help…
> 
> PS: The Fabergé Exhibit ends November 27, 2016, so suspend disbelief since it was at least 8 months before Root came back to Shaw and I started out using the show’s timeline for the setting of this entire series.
> 
> Title comes from Latin for Late may you return to Heaven (or Long may you live)


End file.
